Slowly, Silently
by Eileen Blazer
Summary: AU. Gambit gets more than he bargained for when he steals what appears to be a plain silver necklace. [RogueGambit]
1. Default Chapter

Okay, I know I'm a few weeks late on my chapter for WMB and should be focusing on that, but I'm posting this anyway, for several reasons. One, because the next chapter of WMB is going to take at least four more days and I want reviews now; two, because I was accepted into UC Davis for the fall and feel like celebrating with a story; three, because, well, I just felt like it.

**_Reviewers will be rewarded_** with good thoughts.

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**Slowly, Silently (Now the Moon)**

**By Eileen Blazer**

**April 2005**

In the center of a room lay the body, curled like a babe, knees pulled up and pale limbs overlapping. Firelight painted curved patterns across the surface of its skin.

Remy LeBeau stood in the dimly lit room, his long trench coat draped over a shoulder. His throat felt clogged; breathing was difficult.

"Are you really gon' stare at her all night?"

He frowned, casting an angry glance at the figure lingering at the windowsill. "Dis wasn't necessary. We planned-"

"No. You planned an' ended up takin' too long."

His fists clenched over the edge of his shirt. "I tol' you _t'night_."

The companion shrugged. "Well, now we don't have t' wait."

"Damn it, I-"

The figure stepped into the semi-light. Bright gold hair stood out in stark contrast to her black apparel, and her eyes flashed with amusement. "Don't pout. Come on, darlin'. What's one lost notch on that belt o' yours? It's got enough studs." She approached him, playfully poking at his waist.

"She's dead, Bella. How can you be like dis?"

Bella rolled her eyes and stepped away. "How can I not? I'm an assassin, Remy. I kill people on a regular basis. Can you imagine what would happen if I allowed myself t' humanize m' targets? I'd have t' put a bullet in m' own head." She folded her arms and inclined her head to the moonlight. "Candra called, all right? She wanted Genevieve out o' her hair for good. Wasn't nothin' I could do."

Remy looked back to the body and sighed. "Da necklace?"

Something hit his chest. He caught it in his hand as it slid towards the ground. The glowing silver chain wrapped around his fingers. Remarkably plain, the item, not worth a girl's life. "What's so special 'bout dis, anyway?"

Bella shrugged. "Maybe Candra just liked da look of it."

* * *

In the comfort of his hotel room, Remy LeBeau collapsed onto silky sheets, burying his face into the plush warmth of a pillow. His body ached like he'd just run a marathon and he wanted nothing more than to sleep for years, undisturbed. 

Unfortunately, sleep would not come.

Instead, he found himself haunted by memories. He'd known Genevieve only…what, two weeks? Three, if he counted the first week he'd spent observing. That wasn't enough to time to develop any serious lasting attachments, but enough to make those attachments a possibility for the future. She was a quiet girl, melancholy face, with wide blue eyes that sought him out like he was the answer to the universe.

Thin lips, always painted light, like pastel pink, or lavender. And such a naiveté. Whoever pulled her into the underworld had made a mistake –Genevieve had no chance of survival, really.

Now she was dead, a thing of the past, another chapter he'd have to close and not look back to. Not for the first time, Remy wondered why he was still in the business. All the easy answers came first: family obligation, fear for his safety, etc. But the other answers, the sneaky, dark, mean ones were bobbing just beneath those. He _liked_ it. The thrill was exhilarating, stronger than his anger at Bella and Candra, stronger than his concern for Genevieve, strong enough to keep his hand always outstretched for that next mission.

He was such a bastard. Remy turned over in the bed and found something digging into his side. He reached into his pocket and retrieved the necklace. Let it snake around his hand as he held it up for viewing. His eyes searched for –whatever it was that Candra had seen, to make it worth so much. But all he saw was a glimmering chain that could've been bought anywhere; it seemed so common. Remy pursed his lips and dropped the chain to the side of the bed.

Sleep. He needed to get some rest. There'd be plenty of time to brood and think ill of his Benefactress –who always seemed to be the one benefiting- on the ride back home. Those more self-defacing thoughts, well, they could wait until the end of never before he analyzed them in greater detail. Genevieve… she was dead. Over. An unfortunate casualty he couldn't waste any more time moping over.

Remy was so persuasive, he almost believed himself.

* * *

"You're not really sleeping, are ya?" 

Remy groaned and wondered who the hell had let someone into his room. "Go'way," he murmured sleepily, even though she was right; he'd been in bed for hours with his eyes closed, pretending that his consciousness was somewhere else.

"You're charmin', really."

He snorted. Nosy and snide. "Go'way," he repeated.

"An' so eloquent in speech."

"Damn it." Remy sat up in bed, intent on throwing out the invader of his privacy. He flung the thin sheets aside and- froze. Curled up on a chair was a thin, pale girl with short hair and deep burgundy lips. Striking in a good way. 'Sort of' green eyes peered at him doubtfully.

"How the likes o' you get the necklace?" She wondered with the shake of her head. "Ah thought Gen was better n' that."

"Genevieve died," he said, carefully.

Slight shock slipped onto her face. "Oh."

"Yeah."

"So now, Ah've got _you_."

"Pardon?"

The girl sighed and rolled her eyes. "You are the new owner o' the necklace, right?"

"M' just da delivery boy." He said.

"But for the moment, it's in your custody?"

"For da moment," Remy acknowledged. A part of him screamed for rational thought; why hadn't he followed through with his plan and tossed her out? How had she gotten inside? Why did she know about the necklace and Genevieve? Could she tell him why it was so important?

"Well, congrats. _For da moment_," she mimicked, "you got your own bona fide ghost. Ghost o' the necklace an' all." And then she stood up, so that the fabric of her rather Gothic gown tumbled down around her bare feet, and held out a hand for shaking.

He reached to touch her, but his hand passed through hers like she was nothing but mist.

"Oh, did Ah forget ta mention Ah can't make physical contact?" Sharp smile.

Remy had no words.

* * *

Ta da! Okay, probably the shortest chapter of anything I've posted in like, five years –that's almost not even an exaggeration. But I don't want this to become a long and drawn out story. I plan to update it fast and never put more thought into it than I put into this first chapter. I hope you don't mind, and if you do, hey, tell me in a review or else I'll never learn the error of my ways. 

Check out my new journal. The link is up under homepage with my bio.

Questions? Comments? Coconuts? I'm Eileenblzr at Yahoo.


	2. Chapter 2

What do you MEAN I haven't updated this since April? Come now; let's not be facetious. I would NEVER… All right. In all seriousness, I had a weird time with this chapter. First draft I didn't like, second draft I lost somewhere; they say three's the charm, so let's hope, neh? I maintain that the chapters for this will (now) come quickly and will be fairly brief length in comparison to other things I've done.

Simon says review.

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**Two**

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Remy blinked, but the open-shut action of his eyelids did nothing to clear away the apparition before him. She remained there, wearing her long dress and that look of mild amusement. So pale she nearly glowed, like face of the moon, his Ghost of the Necklace. _Ghost of the necklace_? That had to be the stupidest thing he'd ever heard, really. The very idea was absurd, for so many reasons, not the least being the fact that ghosts –phantoms, specters, spirits- didn't exist. They were the stuff of bad dreams, campfire tales, and occasionally, Shakespeare. And that trick she'd done with her hand was just that –a trickIf anything, he should be annoyed that she'd used such faster-than-the-eye manipulations against _him_. 

With each thought, Remy's tongue grew back a little more, until he was at last ready to call security and get her thrown out of his hotel room. Attractive or not, she wasn't playing with a full deck and Remy had no time or energy to placate the insane. He'd just opened his mouth, intent on giving her one last warning, when the girl glanced past him and…

Well.

Walked through him. One minute she was a foot away, watching him watch her, and the next she was pushing through his chest and legs and arms to get onto the bed. He looked over his shoulder to see her move across the rumpled sheets. The bed didn't sink under her weight. "This hotel room is really nice," she remarked, "Are you rich o' just lucky?" She studied him. "Maybe both?" There was a slightly cold, tingling sensation in his limbs.

He didn't answer, because… she'd walked through him! _Through_. Him. _Through him_. No matter the number of times he repeated it to himself, the statement didn't make any more sense. Reality didn't shift into a place where it was perfectly normal for girls to appear in his room and start phasing past his body like he or she was just a holographic image. Something clicked. Holographic image!

He narrowed his eyes and glanced around. This would be so like Bella, to find the technology and mastermind a ruse that made him doubt his sanity, while she giggled and smoked from her own ghost-less hotel room, watching the whole scene unfold on a computer screen. "All right," he said, feeling relieved that at least there was a sensible answer. "How much is she payin' you?" It wasn't enough. The girl was a damn fine actress. She said the words like she believed them.

She didn't hesitate to respond with, "Fifty thousand."

He almost choked on his own saliva with that amount. "What?"

The girl shrugged. "Ah could pick a different number. Higher. Lower. Change it ta yen."

"Bella don't renegotiate contracts," Remy pointed out.

"Who?"

"Belladonna. Femme who put y' up t' trickin' me."

"Oh. _Right_. Naturally. Of _course_." She rolled her eyes and jumped off the other edge of the bed. Her attention was at the mirror, then. She examined her face, traced a hand beneath her eyes. Like she was touching a mask, he thought. "You're far too clever for me an' uh, Bella. Can't believe we ever thought this little game would fool ya." Her voice carried a distinctly mocking tone.

"Well," he said, "y' could've put on more of a show."

"Ya mean like… flickerin' lights?" Her voice was too eager. "An' quiet moans in the dark? Maybe some chains on my limbs, a la Jacob Marley? Wow. Those are great suggestions. Ah don't know why Ah think ta ask for that stuff when Ah was bein' murdered an' my soul imprisoned in a shoddy necklace. Damn it!" She stomped her foot.

"Chere," Remy sighed, sensing he was close to once again losing control of the situation.

But she was holding up the edge of his sheet now, asking, "What if Ah put this over my head an' cut two holes for eyes. More convincin'?" When he didn't answer, she let it drop from her fingers and flutter back down to the mattress. They stared at each other, challengingly, Remy and his Not-a-Ghost.

"Dat ain't funny."

"Ah'll be a good lil' ghost an' work on my act. What's purgatory for if not ta entertain you?"

"An' can y' stop wit' da sarcasm, hmm?"

"Yes, Master." She folded her eyes, blinked, and vanished. Seconds later, she began to hum the _I Dream of Jeannie_ theme song in his ear. He ran his hands over his face and sighed. What the hell was happening?

"All right, can I call a truce?" Remy conceded. "I'll make like you're a real ghost, an' you just shut da hell up. We'll sit an' play nice, like good lil' kids?"

The silence lingered on and he wondered if, maybe, she'd done him one better and just disappeared for good. But then she materialized again on the same chair where he'd first seen her, sitting pretzel style, her face once again unreadable. A sigh lifted and fell her chest. "A habit," she said. "Ah don't breathe, but my exasperation still needs an outlet. An'… the whole _Jeannie_ thing was probably takin' it too far. Sometimes, Ah overreact. It's just the most annoyin' thing ever when the only person in the whole world who can hear ya, doesn't believe you're even real." She dropped her gaze.

Remy found himself sitting. "I'm da only one who can hear you?"

"So long as that," she kicked a foot towards the discarded necklace, "is yours, yeah."

Remy's attention at last turned back to the silver necklace that had started everything. If it had been lackluster before, it was downright dull now. He easily could've bought its likeness for fifty cents at the local drug store. Curled up and forgotten on the floor, and he felt a pang of guilt in remembering how he'd last seen Genevieve in a similar position. Opting not to share that with the ghost, he instead lifted the piece of jewelry into his hand. It burned, ice cold, in his palm.

"So, how did you know Gen?" The girl asked.

"We were new friends," he said.

"Oh." She nodded. "How… how did she die? Was it like a car accident, a murder? She was too dumb for her job, you know." She gave a sad laugh. "Too nice for it, too. She always used to swear that she was goin' ta help me find a way ta free my soul. We must've poured over fifteen thousand books, lookin' for somethin'."

"It was a murder," he confessed.

"Ah knew it." Rogue sighed again.

"Listen, I-" He stopped, though, and they both turned at the sound of rustling behind the door. Bella, he figured, when a key slid into the lock. When he looked back, the girl was gone, vanished again. A gush of fresh air accompanied the pretty Cajun as she entered. Bella entering the room was like the break of dawn. She wore a bright gold dress than nearly matched the warm tan of her skin, and all her curling hair let loose, like a cascade of sunlight down her shoulders. She drew open his curtains and let the morning start to seep in.

Curious eyes scanned the room, as if searching. "Did I hear y' talkin' t' someone?"

Unconsciously, his hand tightened around the bracelet. "Myself," he said quickly. His own eyes darted back to the chair where the girl-ghost had been sitting. He wanted to tell Bella about his encounter, but couldn't find a good reason to. It wasn't like she could see the girl.

"Oh." She shrugged and sat down beside him. "Listen, about last night…"

"Don't worry 'bout it." Remy said. "I know when Candra says the word, can't nothin' be done."

She shifted, uncomfortable. "Maybe somethin'."

"Huh?"

"Henri called me again. He said y' don't answer y' phone for him, ever. Said he misses you."

At this, Remy frowned and momentarily forgot about his visitor. The memory of his brother was haunting enough. "Henri is taboo. Dat's how come I don't answer m' phone for him. He should understand. Da choice was made clear: his girl or us. He didn't choose us." He could still picture the back of his brother's green shirt as he and the petite Merci walked off into the sunset like a Hollywood miracle, all hopes and dreams and soon-to-be-wedded bliss. Neither of them had spared a glance for the LeBeau family left behind, denied their son and brother. Of course Bella was quick to forgiveness; she wasn't the one who'd had to clear out his room on Candra's orders; if Julien had done the same, she'd have murdered him on his honeymoon.

"But Remy…"

"I don't feel well t'day, Bella. Could we reschedule our plane tickets for tomorrow?"

Her face was drawn in a pout. "I guess."

"An' no more talk 'bout Henri?"

"You'll change your mind sooner or later," she promised him. "An' you'll regret it if it's later."

"Bella."

She huffed. "No more talk about Henri. _Today_." She stuck out her tongue.

* * *

The ghost didn't return after Bella's departure, and Remy soon found himself alone in the shower. The water beating against his chest was nearly scalding, a welcome warmth. With hands full of soap clouds, he rubbed tension from his shoulders. There was too much to think about, so he tried to concentrate on nothing at all. Blindly, Remy made a grab for the shampoo bottle. He emptied a handful of the cold sludge onto his scalp and started rubbing it into his auburn hair. Almost relaxing, that.

The faintest of smiles appeared on his lips.

"Would you like a little privacy?" Wide-eyed, he half turned to see the ghost leaning back against the wall. The water didn't seem to touch her at all. She was examining him with more interest that before. He looked down to see what was drawing her eyes and-

Oh.

"I'm takin' a shower!" He insisted. Not that he was particularly averse to having attractive females in the show with him; he just preferred that they got there upon invitation. Or, failing that, had the decency to get naked too.

"Ah can see that," she answered, calmly. "Ah'm bored. Was that girl here earlier Bella?"

"Yes."

"Huh."

He narrowed his eyes. "Huh?"

"Ah just expected your girlfriend to be a little more…"

"More what?"

She scrunched up her face and shook her head. "Never mind." She glanced up. "This is a nice shower."

"Get out." Remy said.

"More dumb, since ya ask."

"Why would m' girlfriend be dumb?"

She shrugged. "Ah don't know. Ya seem the type."

"I'm da Dumb Girlfriend Type?"

She grinned. "So ya think so too?"

He blinked, and damn it all if soap didn't sting his eyes. He wanted to rub them, to duck his face under the faucet until the contamination was clear. But somewhere, that seemed like letting her win. So he stood there, letting the tearing of his eyes be masked by the fall of water against his shoulders.

"Bella's m' partner, not a girlfriend," he heard himself say.

"Huh." She said again.

"Now what?"

"Pretty girl spends her time with you, has a key ta your apartment, and you're not interested. Is there anything about your life choices that you'd like to share? 'Cause really, Ah end up findin' out all the big secrets anyway."

He gripped the wall. "I don't know if it's gonna work between us, Chere. Me an' you keepin' company. I feel like I'd have killed y' if you weren't already dead."

"Ah'm tryin' ta be open-minded an' understandin'!" She protested.

"By arguing wit' me in da shower?"

"Always a complaint." She threw up her hands and stepped through his shower curtain.

He sighed, and then she poked her head back through. "By the way, Ah'm _flattered_." Remy considered this for the briefest second, before realizing what she meant. Then, he threw a glob of soap at the space where she'd been. God, he was going to go stark raving mad.

* * *

And there we go. Review, and I promise that I will update like, fast. It'll be our pact, okay? As always, all questions, comments, and coconuts can be sent to me. I'm Eileenblzr at Yahoo. If you're lost, thinking 'oh no! What will I do until Eileen updates?' you can always mosey on over to my other fic-in-progress, Out of the Blue. It gets jealous if SS gets all the attention. Again, thanks a bunch! 

**On a personal note**:

**AnalisDestiny, the past, heartsyhawk, abril4, jade, musigmistress, Enchantedlight, black spades, Rogue14, Orange, Kyo-Kitty, Texasgrrl, Elle457: **You guys are all the bestest ever and I owe you a debt of gratitude. Whatever you want, just ask it. I'll be sure to smile and hope fervently that it comes your way.

**Ishandatwenty**: Thanks for scaring me with the promise of too much work in Real College, Ish. Just as I finalize the paperwork, too. Actually, the ghost isn't Rogue. I know, you thought 'cause of the accent, right? Actually, it's Sam in drag. True story. I've watched too much Sorority Boys.

**Katya-Who-Will-Not-Read-This**: You're supposed to be the keeper of the stories. How did you lose my other chapter!

**Gothikstrawberry**: Is the ghost Rogue? Well… I feel like I shouldn't say yes, just because I thrive on other people's wonder and confusion. But, you know, Romy is in my blood. Thanks!

**Wildcardrose, Chica De Los Ojos Café**: Still not forgetting about WMB! I swear! It's just…delayed. Thanks!

**Rogue Gal**: I fear I might not have explained things too well in this new chapter. But yes, it's Rogue, and yes, it's Romy, and yes, there will be a continuing add of detail, I promise.

**Poisoned-Tattoo**: Difficult rhyme, too. Impressive. Most impressive. Thanks!

F**reak87**: You don't count since April has a long time, right? I don't even know if it was in April, or in May. Well, one of those spring months. Spring is right next to summer, after all…heh. Thanks!

**Neurotic Temptress**: Always expecting another update? Where are yours, hmm?

**Paula**: Where are you!

Kouken no Kouchou: Hi! I feel like… I'm disappointed that these chapters aren't longer, more detailed, because I'd really like to hear what you think! If you're ever wandering, maybe you could take a look at Blue, which I'm also writing and which has, incidentally, more story written. Anywho, thanks!  
Silverbells: Are you really a math major? Really? 'cause you like, like math? I find myself…stunned. Thanks for the review! 

**TheRogueAuthor**: Don't cry! Do review! Thanks ever so much!


	3. Chapter 3

First things first: I should've mentioned it previously, but this is an AU where mutants don't exist. That's why when Remy saw Rogue, he didn't suspect her of being a mutant. Secondly, you guys who reviewed are all quite awesome, and I thank you kindly. The next part of Blue will be out v. soon. In the meantime, here's chapter three of this!

Review and I'll love you forever.

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**Three**

* * *

"Succubus," the psychiatrist said.

Remy frowned. "Succubus?"

She gave a nod and began rifling through a book on her desk. "Perhaps you're more familiar with her male equivalent, the Incubus. A succubus is said to appear in men's bedrooms, mount the victim's chest, and then engage the man in sexual intercourse. These 'visits' were commonly reported in previous centuries, but there are some who still see attractive women in their bedrooms." She gave him a tight smile and turned her book. There was a picture splashed across the pages, of a demonic-looking woman hovering above a sleeping man.

Remy glanced at the picture, then back up at the psychiatrist. "She doesn't want t' have sexual intercourse wit' me. We don't like each other," he added.

"Yet."

"Plus," he added, "She can't even touch me."

"Or so you believe at this time."

He frowned.

She went on. "Actually, I mention it because there was a man named Stan Gooch some years back, who tried to trace the existence of these creatures. He came to believe that the succubus who visited him was actually a compilation of many women he'd known, created by his own psyche and given the illusion of a physical presence. If you've experienced some kind of traumatic, or just troubling event lately, it's possible that your mind has crafted a being not unlike Gooch's succubus."

He took a deep breath. "Succubus." He repeated again.

She shrugged. "If you're interested in more conventional answer to your problem, we can look into schizophrenia. Schizophrenics are also prone to hallucinate people that aren't actually around. You're of an age when the disorder commonly makes itself known. Have you recently taken to violent behavior, restlessness, apathy…"

He blanched. "I'm not schizophrenic!"

"I'm sorry, Mr. LeBeau. I'm sure that neither answer was quite what you wanted to hear."

He exhaled softly. She was right; he didn't know what exactly he'd been expecting, but her calm, deliberate explanation of the possibilities wasn't it. He smiled in her direction and stood up. Her office was a spacious, sparingly decorated room with a wooden desk, a laptop, a photograph, and several plants. He breathed in the clean air once more before extending a hand over the desk. "Thank y' for yo' time, Ms. Grey."

The redhead accepted his handshake and grinned, brightly. "I just hope you figure this ghost thing out, Mr. LeBeau."

* * *

"She was too young ta be a real psychiatrist," The ghost mused, while he washed his face in the bathroom of the psychology complex. She watched him dunk his whole head into the water and then turned away, bored. "We're not havin' sex, by the way. Ah'm not here ta steal your virtue. Sorry."

"Don't think I got any virtue t' steal," he said. He shook his head, sending droplets in all directions. They passed through her, though she gave him a look of obvious annoyance. "About what she said…"

"Lies."

"How come y' seem t' be able t' pick an' choose what objects pass through y' an' which don't?"

"That's…that's…" the ghost turned away. "It's absurd. Ah don't pick."

"Y' do too!" He responded.

She fingered a string on her dress and sighed. "Ah'm a bad ghost, all right? Ah don't know how it all works just yet. It's a learnin' process an' Ah figured since Ah've got all eternity, why rush?"

"I don't even-" Remy stopped speaking abruptly, because the doors to the bathroom were pushed open and an older, suited man stepped inside. He glanced over Remy for a minute, before heading into one of the stalls. Of course, the ghost had disappeared. Remy rolled his eyes and stalked out of the bathroom. He had an appointment with Bella at a café near the hotel, anyway.

He had a life that did not include ghosts.

* * *

Jeans, pink sweater, and wide blue eyes that watched him, amusement flickering in their depths; she looked more innocent than any assassin had a right to. Like she might've been on her way to high school or church youth group or some other place that Bella had never even considered going. The mass of her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail. A cheery smile played upon the corners of her mouth.

Belladonna kicked out a chair for him, and offered a sip of her coffee. He accepted, more out of habit than thirst. The flavor was too bitter for his taste, and scalded the tip of his tongue. "So," she said, after. "I got another call from Candra. She said she didn't want us t' move on, after all. She's comin' herself t' pick up da necklace an' we're t' keep it safe until such a time. I tell y', Remy, I haven't got a clue why she wants it so badly. Ever since y' mentioned it, it's been buggin' me."

The fact that it was holding the soul of a girl could've been related, Remy thought to himself, but he didn't say it aloud to Bella. For her, he pulled a deep sigh out of his chest and shook his head, solemnly. "Must be some reason."

"It might be really old," she said. "We could get it tested."

Remy didn't have the necklace on him; he'd dropped it off at the hotel, so that the ghost wouldn't overhear his conversation with Bella. It had occurred to him that she wasn't fully aware of his and Bella's role in Genevieve's death. He thought he might tell her himself –eventually- assuming she didn't vanish for good before that could happen.

Even without the necklace nearby, though, Remy felt a twinge of possessiveness. Tested? He wanted answers, too, but…

But what, he asked himself.

He wanted answers too, but answers that were his and his alone. If the ghost was real, she was really his; if the ghost was not real, she was his psychological disorder. Even Bella, his companion and friend and partner –even she was a trespasser into personal territory. He leaned back in the chair and gave her an easy smile. Sipped from her cup again. "Got anyone in mind, Chere?"

Bella looked around. "I might."

"Not Henri. He's out o' da business an'-"

She glared. "I know, I know. Though y' got t' admit, he was da best."

"In da lab," Remy acquiesced. Henri excelled near chemicals. He'd been a thief by trade, but a scientist in the heart. Once upon a time, that had been a valuable assest to the family. Too bad, Remy thought with a trace of bitterness, that all fairy tales end. He straightened his back. "So who y' got?"

She wrinkled her nose. "No one, actually. I was kind o' hopin' you'd go wit' da Henri idea. It'd been a nice chance t' visit an' get information. We'd know for sure that he wasn't rattin' us out t' Candra."

"I'll work on' findin' someone," he promised. It was a smooth lie; it fell from his lips like fine champagne and sweet treats. At least momentarily, it secured his ghost's privacy. _His ghost_. The words were funny, until he realized he had nothing else to call her. No real name.

"So," Bella said, conversationally, "Want t' do somethin' later?"

* * *

She was lying on his bed, wondering where he was. The ceiling was boring. The floors were boring. The closest and clothes and complementary soaps, shampoos, and shower caps were boring. Her reflection in the mirror was _depressing_. She closed her eyes and tried to picture her existence before. She'd been a ghost a long time, longer than she liked to recall. At her junior prom, they'd played Buddy Holly and Elvis and there'd been a giant cutout of James Dean because the theme had been _Dangerous_. Every one had wanted to be him, that lost, lonely, misunderstood outcast; that rebel, that rogue, that forever angel of teenage angst. Her boyfriend, Cody, had worn a leather jacket with his suit and picked her up on a motorcycle he didn't quite know how to drive.

They'd managed all right, at first, and gotten to the prom in one piece. She danced. Someone spiked the punch. A group of friends agreed to meet at Cody's house, and one by one they drifted off to cars and bikes and Rogue had saddled up behind Cody, had wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her forehead into the back of his jacket. He smelled like the poisoned punch, but he assured her there was nothing wrong with his faculties. They were halfway to the house when he slammed on the brakes suddenly. Her hold had gotten lazy and lax, and she was thrown from the bike.

When she woke up, she was lying on a white bed and there was a man standing over her, saying words she didn't understand. But there were cuffs on her hands, on her ankles, one large metal lock on her neck…

She opened her eyes and frowned. Bad thoughts. She'd gone for months without thinking of her own death, but the shock of losing sweet Gen hurt.

"Y' look sad."

She glanced over to see Remy standing in his own doorway, a jacket thrown over his shoulder, like he was about to walk down the runway. He gave her a questioning look. She snorted. "Sad? Me? Ah'm Miss Cheer an' Gaiety, o' didn't ya hear?"

"Must've been watchin' a different pageant," he said.

"Obviously." She sat up on the bed. "Where'd ya go?"

"Lunch wit' Bella."

"An' didn't take lil' me? Ah'm hurt. But Ah guess ya wanted quality time with the girlfriend."

He wagged a finger at her. "We're not havin' dis conversation again."

She dropped her jaw. "We've had it before? Ya got ta forgive me; every time there's a full moon, my memory is reset. It's some kind o' weird ghost trip Ah can't help. Who are you again?"

"Dat is such bullshit."

"Ah, but fun bullshit." She yawned. "Let's do somethin'."

Remy sat on the bed and threw himself into the pillows. "Good idea. We'll play a game."

"No strip poker."

"No kill-the-living."

"No annoy-the-ghost-who-can-make-your-life-a-living-nightmare. Literally."

"No make- the-sane-man-bury-his-silver-necklace-in-the-middle-of-a-deep-lake-where-it-won't-ever-be-found." Remy narrowed his eyes.

"You are such a baby," she answered.

"Me?"

"No, Remy. The _other_ human Ah can talk to."

They stared at each other in silent appraisal for a moment, before Remy finally continued. "I was thinkin' we could play da kind o' game where I introduce myself formally, an' you do da same. I still don't know what t' call you, Chere."

"Goddess will suffice."

"Chere."

"That, too."

"Don't y' got a name?"

The ghost shrugged. "Ah had one, a long time ago. But she isn't me anymore. Her name isn't mine."

"Isn't it about time y' thought up a new one?" He earned himself a raised, doubtful brow. "It'd be so much easier t' deal wit' you if I knew who t' curse da heavens for."

She laughed at that. A name. A soul without a cause. "Call me Rogue," she improvised.

"Rogue. Now dat's got a nice ring."

* * *

Here we go. Another chapter done! Yet, while we're chatting, I'm looking for a short-term beta to check out a story (Romy, Jott, post-Evolution) I'm working on that won't be out until… the later months of this year. Anyone interested? Drop me a line; I'm Eileenblzr at Yahoo.

**Individual responses**:

Sweety8587, Rogue Gal, WolvGambit Le Diable Blanc, Kyo-Kitty, Enchantedlight, Rogue14, IvyZoe, Chica De Los Ojos Café, Gothik Strawberry: I'd say you guys rock, but I bet you already know that. Thanks for reading, super thanks for reviewing, and if you come again the fake drinks are on the house!

Poisoned-Tattoo: Why thank you so much! Glad ya liked it, and lovely hearing from you.

Le Rossignol de la Soriee: Woah. Your name threw me off for a second. You flatter me so; I don't know if I believe that I'm _that_ good, but I'm certainly glad I could impress you. The issue of Rogue's touching was actually one that bothered me too. I addressed it some in this chapter, but the answer isn't entirely clear yet. That's because I'm not sure yet if Rogue's actually a ghost of a real dead person or a figment of Remy's imagination. Thanks so much for your review (which was helpful) and hope to see you again!

SnarkyKat: What did you do? Skip ahead to the review responses and see what I wrote? That's cheating; you can't say mean things unless you've read the story.

Alara: Promises, promises. Heh. I am certainly glad you like the idea of this story; I took great care in stealing it from another, more famous tale. Of course, I've altered it so that it's decidedly more evolution-based, and very unlike it's original, but… Anyway, thanks a bunch and I'm waiting for an update!

Kitsu LeBeau: Is Remy going to fall for the ghost? Well. Possibly? Okay, probably. But not yet, so don't push it! There are an abundance of Marvel blondes that are already written into the story… Thanks!

TheRogueAuthor: Ah, I too watch Full House episodes too often! Where else can you watch the world's problems be solved in half an hour and ogle young John Stamos at the same time? That Uncle Jessie. Thanks for the review!

Ishandapound: You know how they say be careful what you wish for? I read your review and I was all, aww, I want to paint my room! A few days later my mom decides –hey, let's paint the room! It's a lot less fun, all of a sudden. Especially since I'm moving in two months and won't get to reap the benefits of a newly painted room. Boo. Oh, and you should watch A Muppet's Christmas Carole before Christmas in July is over.

Roguechere: Ha! I purposely set it up as Rogue being the ghost to avoid being too much like other stories; plus, there are a lot of Remy-living-in-her-head stories that I wanted to stay clear of. Great to have a new LJ friend!

Lace123: Ahaha. I'm already writing the stories I will then post while in Real College! Who says being dead causes problems? But… there are too many bad stiff jokes out there (plus, I'll probably toss in a few to the story, anyway) so I'll take the higher ground right now. Thanks for reviewing!

Silverbells: Did I say necklace instead of bracelet? I can't even remember which it's supposed to be! Well, as soon as I'm done here, I shall go back and see if I can fix it. Or I'll get tired and put it off for another day. Thanks for pointing I out! Thanks more for the review!

Chained2amask: You know your name is only going to make me want to watch Phantom of the Opera. But the spaghetti will keep me around- for now. Thanks! Mmm. Food!

Freak87: I was just telling a friend about Beetlejuice! _Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice. _In fact, I think about it every time I write this story, so you're on the same wavelength as me! I'm happy, but you should be scared. Thanks!

Shira's Song: You want Bella bashing? Gosh, what kind of writer do you think I am? (Don't answer that). I was lucky this time around, I remembered what ellipses were. Honestly, I always forget and call them 'those dot-dot-dot things'. Which I use constantly… see? You can give me the sticky color things, but odds are I'll use them to price myself and various objects around the house and then not update for a long time. Hee. Thanks a bunch!


	4. Chapter 4

  
So, been a while, hmm? Umm…my bad? Hey, in fairness (to those of you who were turning _violent_), I had to take care of a lot of school stuff. And my new roommate may be anti-sci-fi. Gimme a break (of that Kit-Kat bar). Reviews will be as cherished as first-born children. The void of non-reviews will be filled with my tears. 

**Four **

"We are not going t' play Twister." He spoke in the clear, strong, resolute voice he'd learned from listening to his father address the younger members of the guild (himself included) – the Do As I Say Or Suffer Immeasurably Voice. From the even the cockiest, most stubborn, irreverent of the Thieves (again, himself) the voice incurred respect. It drew, however, only a yawning, whiney 'how come' from his ethereal companion, who sat on the desk staring at him in a rather disconcerting way. Wide eyes and dark lashes tracked his every move, like very determined motion sensors. "Because." He answered. For lack of a better brain, it seemed.

"Because? Because…of the wonderful things he does?" She suggested.

He dipped his head to sip from his martini glass and took advantage of the position to glower. "No Twister."

"Battleship?"

"I'm really kind o' busy."

She leaned back on her elbows and shook her head. "Ah'm beginnin' ta think you're really kind a' dull."

He nearly choked on his olive. "I take offense at dat. Remy LeBeau is not a borin' man."

"Uh huh, sure," Rogue said, with a snort. "You're all excitement an' intrigue. It's a good thing Ah'm already dead, 'cause Ah don't think my heart could've taken the deep mystery that is you. Just look at ya now. Sure, it looks like you've been sittin' there drinkin' for half an hour, not even movin' much, but underneath it all, you're probably plannin' world domination, am Ah right? What will ya use this time, Doctor No. A death ray carefully positioned on the moon, or a secret mind control poison released into the air?"

With a smile, he said, "Have you considered usin' some o' dat endless time t' write a novel?"

She narrowed her eyes. "You suck."

"No," he corrected, "but if you'd like to-" He stopped when she vanished abruptly. "What's wrong? Was it somethin' I said?"

She didn't answer aloud, but suddenly his martini glass was turned upside down onto his lap, soaking his pants through. Remy stared at the mess of his clothes and couldn't help it; he laughed. "Touché, Cheri."

* * *

"What did you find out?" Bella asked the man in her ear, as she practiced alone in the gym. She targeted a life-size puppet in the distance with the sharpened edge of her wooden staff. With a running start, she threw the staff and watched with some satisfaction as it landed square in the puppet's head.

"_The boss is definitely acting funny these days. I talked to a pal, a friend who serves on her personal security staff and it turns out she's been meeting a lot with this guy. They retreat into her office, and the guards aren't allowed to follow. Her own men, and she locks them out, like they weren't handpicked for their loyalty and quiet tongues. My pal is getting fed up with this, and it isn't just him. All the guards are anxious these days._"

Her hand clamped down on the staff. She jerked it quickly from the fluffy stuffing and twirled it around her wrist in an elegant move. Practice makes perfect, her father loved to say. Even away on a mission, he would expect her to keep up her training. He probably wouldn't condone the investigation of the Benefactress herself, but she'd learned long ago that father didn't always know best. She'd please him where she could, and be content with that. To the man, she said, "Have y' run a search on dis secret companion?"

"Extensively. So clean he squeaks," she was informed. "It all looks in order, as far as we can tell. The thing is, we're not getting the whole picture. Several documents pertaining to his life have been designated classified by the United States Government. He's got the big support. We can break through it, sure, but not without time."

Bella frowned. She pulled a dagger from her boot and turned around to face the row of new puppets that had suddenly appeared. They wore thick armor this time. "Can we get a bug in his house?" She licked her licks and raised the dagger; there was a weak spot near the knees of the dummies. She flipped the dagger over in her hand once before letting it fly like a boomerang. It sliced through half of the knees before twirling back towards her. She caught with her protected palm.

"We're working on that, too, but it's not going to be easy. He's got security that makes the secret service look like kids in big suits and jackets. Infiltrating his home is going to be a lot like trying to rob Fort Knox."

"Let me guess. Isolated hermit."

"Opposite. Completely public. The guy resides in Worthington Towers, in the center of New York City."

"Is there anyway t' get Warren Worthington III in on our plans? We can make up some story about embezzlement."

"That's unlikely," the man said. "The guy in question _is _Warren Worthington."

Bella paused in her attack of the remaining two attackers. "He's the guy that Candra's been spending time with? Merde. I don't believe it. What is da world comin' to, I ask you. Keep up the work. I want him to have at least five tails at any one time, _oui_?" She clicked off her earpiece and sighed to herself, trying to shrug off the tension in her shoulders. Remy was being distant and Candra was plotting in secret. She was clearly missing something… but what?

* * *

He ran a search for 'imprisoned souls' just as a test run. There were numerous results, which appeared to span everything from the Purple Pill to Vlad the Impaler. Remy skimmed the entries, but there was nothing that seemed to jump out with a handy explanation for a girl being stuck in a piece of jewelry.

However, he did notice one of the ads looking particularly interesting. '_**The Ghost Patrol**'_. _Are you interested in some spirited ghost hunting? Call us, the ghost patrol, at 468-885-9696. Our service is out of this world…or at least beyond it. _It was stupid. And probably a gag. But, there was always a chance they could help, information-wise. Remy jotted down the number and then quickly shut his laptop as the sound of light humming filled the room behind him.

Rogue was holding his wallet. "There's some really interesting stuff here," she remarked, tossing cards onto the desk in front of him. "That driver's license picture makes ya look like a squirrel, by the way. Didn't know the Mile High Club actually made printouts. And why is there an attractive man's picture hidden in the back o' your wallet?" She held out the photo for him to see. "The secret lover?"

He snatched it all away. "Dat's my brother, Henri." He sighed, cramming the picture back where it belonged. His cards followed with the same violent haste. "Who said it was okay t' start siftin' through my stuff?"

"It's in the handbook," she said. "So what's the deal with _Henri_ an' you, anyway, Gumbo? What'd he do ta deserve a place behind the Chevron gas station charge card and the Summer Work Available flier, huh? Or do boys these days just have no concept o' brotherly love."

Remy frowned. "It's a long story."

"Convenient then that Ah got all eternity."

He opened his mouth, and then closed it. "How come we're always talkin' about me."

She gave a shrug. "We're not. You're just enough of a narcissist ta only remember conversations 'bout you."

"Y' hail from Mississippi?" He asked, not deterred, despite her efforts. A genuine curiosity sprung up as he watched her consider her answer with a thoughtfulness she'd never shown before. Even her posture changed. She seemed more… real. More alive, in an odd way.

"Ah am from Mississippi, yeah." Her body slid onto the bed, and she curled her legs up against her chest. "Caldecott."

"What was da best thing about it?"

She said, "The smallness. Big cities are great, but there's somethin' so personal about little places. They're more comfortable."

She wrinkled her nose. "Ah guess it came with a fair amount of prejudices, though. We never did like outsiders, much, and let me tell you, the Civil Rights Movement was like an especially painful enema for me. " She shook her head. "Ah guess ya don't ever stop grownin', even after you're dead."

"An' what are you learnin' right now?" Remy wondered.

She grinned slowly. "Not ta let you lead conversations anymore."

He laughed. "Come on. Let's play a game. I want t' sink yo' battleship."

* * *

For the third time in a row, Remy didn't answer the phone. Bella huffed, or would've, if she hadn't been involved in pressing matters. Sticking the cell phone back into her pocket, she followed the tall blonde gentleman on his walk through the park. He walked with a purpose, not quite how one would expect a man who'd never lifted a finger in honest work to make his way through a crowd. His looks and his money afforded him much attention; everyone he passed offered him smiles.

She'd never paid much attention to his kind. She was too rich on her own for wealth to matter, too self-possessed to let his marketable charm influence her. And when one spent nearly every day in the presence of Remy LeBeau…one learned to overlook good looks. But suddenly, the trust fund baby was interesting. And dangerous, no doubt, but being a professional assassin tended to kill that worry. Few people were more dangerous than the one she called 'Daddy'.

After a minute of following quietly, Bella quickened her step and called out, "Warren?" The name was funny on her tongue. Losing the Bayou accent wasn't hard anymore, but it was still a strange thing for her ears. Stuffing that observation aside, she continued, "Warren, is that you?"

He paused, mid-stride, and cast a glance over his shoulder. She waved, so he'd know was addressing him. If he didn't recognize her face, he at least caught the elegantly revealing dress she wore. His eyes examined her briefly, before finding their way back to her face. He grinned. "Do I know you?"

"Well, certainly. We had that night in Venice, after the Children's Hospital Fundraiser." She giggled brightly. "I still have the video. I was hoping that I might run into you here. There are so many unfamiliar faces here in New York. But then you're probably too busy for little Donna, right?"

Warren shifted. "Donna," he repeated with thought. "I always have time for a friend, Donna, especially the beautiful ones. You'll forgive me if I can't stay long and chat now, I hope; there's a meeting that demands my attention, but…where are you staying? I'd love to call on you. There's a restaurant on Eighth and Vine that I think every visitor to the city should see."

She reached into her purse and retrieved a card for him. "I can't wait to see what you've got planned, Warren."

* * *

She stretched her arms out wide and yawned. Another day of chasing someone's fantasies. Sarah wasn't sure how much longer she could take of the Ghost Patrol. The boss paid well, sure, but damn if it wasn't the stupidest job she'd ever held. People called up claiming they'd seen little green monsters in their shoes, and heard voices in the bedroom, and seen floating heads in the cellar, and so on, and so forth. She was stuck in a low budget X-files wannabe, and the very minute she could afford to pay for her classes in orthopedic studies, she was gone.

Gone like the mind of her latest client, a Southern gent with a problem.

A ghost in a necklace. What kind of crap was that? Of course there'd been no precedence. If she were being kind, she'd have told him to walk into a brick wall a few times and see if that helped clear things up. But she was being professional instead, and that involved typing up a report on apparitions caught between two worlds. And blah, blah, _blah_.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

**Reviewer Responses:**WolvGambit Le Diable Blanc, enchantedlight, Grumpygurl33, Rogue14, Gothik Strawberry, x-bandet-x, Kitsu LeBeau, addtothenoise, helppuppie, silverink, cat2fat900, freak87: Without you guys, I'd never find the will to keep going with any story. Thanks so much for your continued interest. And hey, any requests for cameos? I might take a few. 

Poisoned-Tattoo: No news yet on why they want the necklace, but maybe now you know who wants it? Thanks!

Sweety8587: The drinks are there! Unless… darn it, I think Remy stole them. You'll have to take it up with the Cajun boy!

Chica: Well, a month is practically a fast update. Right? Thanks muchly for the review. Come again.

SnarkyKatya: I'd say something mean but you've helped me with the storyline. Curses.

Silverbells: Ah, explanations will come. I considered having powers in the story, but frankly it made everything a little complicated, and I wouldn't have been able to pull off the little cameo scenes, you know? Thanks for reading.

Alara: You updated, I updated, we all updated. This sounds like the beginning of a children's song. Did I say I'd love you forever? Ahh, but there was a fine print (so fine it seemed as if it weren't even there). You have to keep reviewing. Thanks for reading!

Ishandasquishedbug: Wow. Reading your review, I realized how long it's been since the last update. How the time does fly. I think you were having a little too much fun with all the possible ways of phrasing Bella's painful demise via divine intervention. I'm sure you always only have the very noblest of intentions, dear Ish. I'd bet my…uh, old Family Tree project on it.

Roguechere: Ahh, Beastwars. I need a life. Yes, I am going to make you wait. I will say this: if she is a ghost, she did die. Bye!

They-Call-Me-Orange: They call me weird, but that's another story. Thanks for the critique. Come again, please.

TheRogueAuthor: Sorry about the confusion. Agreed about the Uncle Jessie. You know the question about Rogue's eventual fate? I have no idea what the answer is. Seriously. I'm oh, so very susceptible to suggestions at the moment. Hint, hint.

Nettlez: Ah, glad you're a fan. I blush! Thanks for the review and I hope you come again!

Shira's Song: As soon as I finish this, I aim to catch up on your updates. Pinky swear, only minus the pinky. You're not alone in hoping that Gambit isn't imagining Rogue; heck, I'm pretty sure now you've got me on your side, which is probably good. Glad you like the banter. Sometimes, when my brain won't dish out a plot, it reverts back to banter talk, so knowing the stand-by is effective is comforting. Ha. Thanks for the review! Come again.

Lace123: An English teacher! Oh my! That brings up such a variety of memories. Including some I thought I'd suppressed. Hey, glad ya liked the banter and I hope you get around to updating sometime. Happy trails!

Chained2aMask: In POTO, movie version, Christine was actually singing. I was shocked, too. I agree about the names. I prefer having her as just 'Rogue' although sometimes I cave in and give her one of the many other ones. I always hate myself in the morning. Ha. Thanks a bunch!

Le Rossignol de la Soiree: Wow, your reviews are always a pleasure. You know, your scenario two was once very similar to my idea for this story. I wanted Rogue to be alive and captive, and just her image to appear before Remy, and at the end, he could've found out about her real life. Unfortunately, there was another fic too much like that. This review did not exceed 2-3 months. Ha!


	5. Chapter 5

_Gasp!_ What do you mean I have not updated in months! Surely, you don't mean I! Anyway, this chapter is dedicated dearly to three people. To Coldqueen, though she told me no one would care if I ever updated again. To Shira, for making me feel like I kicked a puppy when I didn't update. And to Alara -I probably owe her my soul by now, unless she doesn't follow through on a certain _deal_. Yeah. That's right. (Review!)

* * *

_1950 Something_

"I'm afraid, Mr. Worthington, that you are a very sick man." The news wasn't unexpected. Second opinions rarely held anything resembling shock. Still, he mused, as he listened to the doctor drone on about facts and treatments and the million maybes that accompanied any kind of serious illness, he had hoped for something else. Something better. He lifted a slow hand to cease the doctor's chatter.

"Perhaps we can talk options at another date." He smiled politely. "I'd like some time. Ironic, perhaps, but necessary nonetheless. If there's a bathroom I could use before I leave-" There was. The doctor showed him the way, and then excused himself. Worthington shut the door, locking himself into the little room. His reflection in the mirror was tired. He licked his lips and braced himself with a hand on either side of the sink. "What have you done?" He asked his image.

It had started as a game and escalated rapidly. One minute he was paying dollars for good laugh while a woman read his palm and the next- well, he was dying. God. He ran a hand over his face. The actual word struck like a whip. _Dying_. Soon-to-be dearly departed. He wondered what the funeral would be like. Huge, no doubt. There'd be movie stars and senators and random nobodies; people he adored, and people he despised. Some would cry, some would complain, some would take advantage. His shut his eyes.

It had started as a game and morphed into something else entirely. It had started with _her_. Weren't fortune tellers supposed to be old? Haggard, with crooked noses and moles in obvious places and a biting laughter that sounded as nails on a chalkboard to normal ears. They weren't supposed to be able to throw back their capes and show faces of bright, vibrant beauty. Lips red as blood. Even now, she sat in his memory, unchanged and haunting, like a Poe specter.

* * *

_The Present_

"Warren...Warren?"

Warren Worthington III tilted back in his cushioned chair and lifted an eyebrow for his secretary. She straightened the bottom of her skirt and cleared her throat. "You've received a call. An untraceable number from Europe. _Her_. I think. Should I put her through?" The woman's face showed disapproval, and it was no question what answer she hoped he would give.

He leaned forward and his chair hit the grown with a cracking sound. He folded his hands and grinned. "Please do," he said pleasantly. His secretary let out a puff of a air and she turned sharply towards the door, shoulders high with tension. When she was almost out, he said, "Would you like to lobby a complaint before I take this call?"

She turned back to him, her pretty, clear face a mask of indifference. "I don't know why I would bother with that. Again. Ever since you've started your acquaintance with her, you've completely ignored all advice. It's like I'm not really here, not telling you, _Warren, she's trouble_. I don't know where you get off trusting her -you don't really like her, I can tell, and I know isn't love- but you do trust her. And me? I'm not the valued assistant anymore. Just the lady that files your paperwork. So no, I don't would not like to complain. Okay, Warren?" She handed him a fake smile.

"Katherine." He laughed. "I understand your concerns. But you are overreacting. To... _every_thing."

She said, "Maybe you really can't hear me and it's not your fault... I could be a ghost." She faced the door. "What are the odds that I'll be able to walk through walls? Just...phase right through. Wouldn't _that_ be something." Her heels clicked sharply against the tile as she made her exit.

"Don't forget to put the call through."

"Heaven forbid." Her voice died as the door shut after her, and Warren tilted back in his chair again. The blinds were open and he peeked through them. All the buildings beyond were impressive, all tall majesty and grace, but nothing like Worthington Towers. It was the base of an economic and political empire. He had to protect it. The choice had been made. The hard work, complete. He glanced over his shoulder at the engraving behind him. A golden dollar given as a confirmation of success, from the city to the family, marking three generations of brilliance. Warren Worthington III tapped his fingers against the wood of his desk, waiting, and then _her_ voice finally flooded the room.

"_Oh, W. Isn't it a beautiful day?"_

He took a deep breath. Exhaled. "Only since I heard your voice, Candra."

* * *

Another morning came. Remy was still insane. That is, there was still a ghost in his life. And for the moment, she was tangible. She juggled a set of candles, each catch-toss-catch motion part of a smooth unending circle of grace. Her hands were white, good-sized and feminine. He wondered if the pallor was a reflection of her current undead status, or the actual color of her skin. "You're sittin' too close," she remarked casually. She placed her foot at the edge of his seat and kicked him back an inch or two.

He admired grace.

Beauty.

And attitude.

"Let's play Twister," Remy said.

"That ship has sailed. Ah'm not bored anymore. Ah can _touch_ things." She frowned. "For now." And with that, she threw the candles towards Remy, who caught them because he could, and set them down on the floor. She stood up and walked to the door, her fingers closing around the brass knob. "Sometimes, Ah wish."

"For freedom?"

"For life." She stepped back. "Who killed Gen?"

"I- I don't know."

She nodded and glanced down. "Will ya help me find out?"

He didn't know how to answer. "_Chere_..."

"Ah just wanna know."

He knew. A blonde, with pretty eyes and a dark past. And her partner, a confused, possibly mad Cajun. That identification stayed on his tongue, unspoken. It wouldn't give her anymore peace of mind. Telling her would give him considerably less, he was certain. Remy rested his chin on his hands. "Rogue, I don't-"

"I do." She sighed. "I _need_ ta know."

He ran his tongue over his teeth and tried to buy himself time. No spectacular idea appeared. "Rogue."

She leaned down towards him. "Remy."

"I can't." He couldn't.

"An' ya can't be persuaded?"

He shook his head. "I'm sorry." He was.

"Remy?"

"No."

She glared at him, and then vanished. "Wait!" He jumped up. "Okay, I mean-" He groaned and then the door opened wide and Bella stode inside. She had a bag over her shoulder, and a short skirt that was really too short. He blinked, his mind readjusted. "Bella?"

"I don't have a lot a' time," She sighed. "Worthington called a few minutes ago-"

"Da billionaire?"

"He wants us t' have brunch." She slid the bag off her shoulder and shoved it into his arms.

"He wants t' have lunch. Wit' us?"

"Not us. Me." She twirled a long strand of hair between her fingers. "I'm like, Donna. We met a while ago. One crazy evening. It's a long story, _Cher_. Suffice it ta say, this whole necklace business is getting' more complicated than we imagined. I wrote a report, go over it, an' set up da cameras in here. I'm gonna try an' give us an in ta Worthington Towers. An' if it isn't too much trouble, I'd like your own report when we get back." She patted his shoulder.

"My report?"

"The chemical analysis o' da necklace?" She gave him a pointed look.

"Right."

She studied him. "I don't know what's goin' on. But you're still my partner. Aren't you?"

His shoulders dropped. "_Oui_."

Bella leaned forward and gave him a brief kiss. "So set up da cams. We don't have much time. Get dat analysis done. Call Henri if y' have to."

"I won't." He insisted as she left the hotel room quickly. He wondered why all his females seemed to disappear in poofs of air.

And reappear. Rogue materialized to take the cameras off his hands. "Thank ya for agreein'," she said, like their conversation had never been interrupted at all. Don't worry. Ah have ideas ta get us started on the search." She offered him a genuine grin. Then it fell away. "How come ya need ta analyze my necklace?"

Through his considerable confusion, Remy managed a "huh?".

* * *

_1950 Something -Several Weeks Later_

"I wouldn't have come to you, but the doctors aren't proving particularly helpful with my problems. I fear my illness is of such a complexity that only a man of equal complexity can be of help. I was told you are more than proficient in both the natural sciences, and in, uh, supernatural practices." Warren stroked his chin. "I know this sounds absurd -I only half believe it myself." He moved his fingers to the bridge between his eyes and squinted. "But I think my illness is the result of a curse. Several months ago, I came into familiarity with a young woman who professed to be a fortuneteller."

"Familiarity. Can you elaborate?"

"After I'd been visiting her a few times, mostly for fun, though she did appear to have a certain _knack _for knowing, we became romantically involved. She was attractive, friendly. I was smitten, to be honest." He sighed. "But then the board, my company's board, was alerted to our relationship. They were less than pleased, to put it nicely. I was informed that CEOs could not be seen fraternizing with a fortuneteller, bad press and all."

"So you broke it off."

"I was enamored with the girl, but I couldn't risk throwing my place at the company in jeopardy. I built it from the ground up, it's like my child. So, yes, I broke up with her. She was furious. Talked about betrayal, and regret. She said I wasn't the man she thought, that I'd killed him with my greed, and how there was no sense my going on in the world without a soul. She muttered a few chants under her breath while she gathered her things, and vanished. I haven't seen her since. But, shortly after, I began to feel pain in my chest, and that's why I began visiting the doctors."

"Describe her."

"Beautiful. Striking. Pale skin, dark hair, eyes that stare into your soul." He laughed, softly. "A penchant for dark clothes. She wasn't like other girls."

"I imagine not. Your female sounds familiar. There is a young lady, well known in certain circles as a new breed of witch. Young, attractive, possessing of remarkable skill and ability. Her only fault seems a fear of rejection, but it is a severe one. She is not forgiving. If the Scarlet Witch, Mistress of the Black Arts is indeed, your scorned lover you will most certainly require my help if you want to survive through the year."

"Wanda isn't a witch..." Warren said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Exotic, eccentric, yes, and maybe she tapped into something somehow, but there's no way-"

"Mr. Worthington, believe me when I say that Wanda Maximoff wrote the book on witchcraft in modern society. The good news is that you were right in coming to me. I can help you with this curse." There was a pause, as the shadowy figure leaned forward and dropped something onto the table between them. "Unfortunately, the price of removing this curse is, well, exorbitant."

"And the results?"

"Extraordinary. I warn you, however, once you decide this, once you leave here your choice cannot be undone. You may regret this moment, but the payment will be met as scheduled or you will find yourself in a situation more dire than you can imagine. Do you understand that? Is this cooperation what you truly want, Mr. Worthington?"

The wealthy young man felt his heart pound against his ribcage. He tugged on his collar. "I want to live."

"And so you shall. Tell me, how do you like this?" He inched the object between them closer to Warren, who picked it up. Even in the dark, the gold flickered like fire as he turned it in his palm. Too warm for Warren, who already burning up inside. He dropped it back onto the table and slid it away in one smooth, discreet gesture.

"You have fine taste, Mr. Essex. But I prefer silver."

* * *

And there we go. Hopefully the next chapter will come soon. Review! (Oh, and if you feel like I probably owe you a review of your own, just tell me. I'm behind, but trying to catch up). 


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